


Victory

by just_the_fics_maam



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:18:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_the_fics_maam/pseuds/just_the_fics_maam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki, Thor, and a small band of Asgardian warriors ride back to Asgard after a victory. Finia is called in to serve them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victory

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot. Smut. Jealous Loki.

 

The two women stood by Finia, each holding a shining silver comb, twisting and pinning her wavy hair into place. One of the women bent to a basin and brought up a flower and pinned it to her hair, delicate and ivory-colored like a lotus, but with a strong, dizzying smell.

Finia’s dark skin glowed as the women brushed copper-tinted powder over her smooth, toned arms, leaned down and blew lightly on her shoulders to send the excess powder into clouds, then to settle onto the floor like a fine metallic mist. They lifted over her head a dress of fine, bright white muslin, and reached down to tie her sandals. It was simple clothing, and the beauty ritual of a common woman of Asgard, but to Finia it was finer than she had ever experienced before.

As a girl she had traveled here from the outer realms, and after the sudden double tragedy of losing both her mother and father, she was taken in as a serving girl in the royal enclosure in Asgard, the shining city.

Usually she considered herself lucky; the hours were long but the work was not too hard; she was paid well and had her own quarters along the spiral staircase below the servants’ hall, cut deep into the obsidian mountain. It was cool in summer and warmer than the outer rooms in the winter.

Tonight was unusual; Finia had been called to serve at the banquet hall of the prince; Thor had returned successfully from a skirmish with a band of outlaws, and he and his warriors were gathered for a feast. Normally another set of servants were called for an occasion like this, but the night before had been Queen Frigga’s birthday celebration, and the older, more experienced hands were resting after working all night and then until nearly midday in their preparations, serving, and cleaning duties.

Finia’s normal duty was in the laundry, stirring giant vats of boiling sheets, wringing them out and hanging them to dry. She liked her solitary work in the vast, airy upper space in the castle annex, hanging the sheets up so that the brisk, wintry air that flowed in through the windows would catch the sheets and flap them in the wind.

This morning she had been called away from her duties to descend to the antechamber to the throne room; the warriors had only just returned and were battle weary. When she arrived, she had been instructed to fill the basins with hot water, and she and the other girls had set about washing the warriors’ feet.

Finia was the latest getting there, so the only warrior left to be tended to was Loki, the mischievous little brother to Thor. He looked weary, slouching in his chair. A yawn stretched his wide mouth open, and he ran a hand through his jet black hair. She knelt beside the other servant girls and dunked a rag into the steaming, perfumed basin of water, slowly and carefully washing his feet, massaging the tension from the soles of his feet and his calves.

She looked up at him only once, and saw him leaning back, his eyes closed, evidently tired from the day’s exertions. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia as she saw him that way, remembering the time that they had spent as playmates in the castle, before she was old enough for a full day’s work. After she had run errands for the women all morning, she was permitted to play, and one day not long after she arrived she had found the young prince Loki sitting in a window casement, his eyes half closed, peeking out idly onto the wide, green lawn, a scowl on his face. Thor had pushed him out of a game of tag, and he sat high above the small cluster of laughing, screaming children, looking very sour.

“It’s all right,” Finia had said. “We can play here.” And they had invented their own game of hide-and-seek in the Queen’s own chambers, heavy tapestries, wide-swinging wardrobes and the generous empty space under the tufted, curtained bed providing a perfect array of hiding places.

But when she had reached the age of thirteen she had been called away to other duties, and after that she only observed Loki from afar, noticing with a strange sort of pride as he grew in handsomeness, beauty, grace, and wit.

She looked down again, finished washing his feet, and wrapped them in a soft, white towel, one that she herself had washed the day before. He looked down at her, and she felt him noticing her for the first time that day. His eyes flickered with that old mischief, and for a moment she saw her girlhood friend sitting in front of her. He smiled at her. “Thank you, Finia,” he said, his thin lips drawn into a controlled, teasing smile.

She just nodded, bowed, and collected her things, quickly leaving the antechamber. Back in the loft with the flapping sheets, she paced back and forth, wringing her hands for a moment, looking out from the upper windows at the glorious landscape all around. What was this? She felt it in the pit of her gut, like a kick, like a clenching fist. Her mind flashed an image of Loki smiling down at her, the curl of his lip, and then she knew that this was desire; she had rarely felt it before but now it rushed through her like the fresh breeze, billowing the sheets out from the line. They were dry now; she walked down the line, carefully unclipping them and folding them over her arm, their fresh scent filling her breath.

**

An hour later, Finia was rushing to finish her work before sundown. Her unexpected detour to the throne room antechamber put her behind in her day’s work, so she had to work twice as hard to make up for it. She raced through the labyrinth of palace rooms, her arms full of the pillowy white linens.

In the royal family’s rooms, she made herself slow her step, walk with an even measured grace. It didn’t do to let them see your strain, and things must always be kept in a manner of elegant ease when one was near them. Finia bit her lip, forced herself to walk more slowly, watching the sun as it raced down toward the horizon.

Halfway down the hall from the queen’s chamber, Finia felt a firm, cool hand grip her ankle, catching her and keeping her from moving. She pitched forward from the unexpected stop, the pile of folded sheets flying out of her arms. She fell forward, watching in slow motion as the stone floor drew closer to her unprotected face.

Suddenly she was in his arms, Loki’s laughing face trilling in her own. He had appeared from nowhere, and now he stood up, set her on her feet, and moved his hand, the stack of sheets appearing on the bench behind him, perfectly folded.

“Finia,” he said, his voice low and full of cunning.

“My prince,” she said, dropping a quick curtsey and wishing he would hurry up. She had a dozen more rooms to tend to and less than a quarter of an hour left in the day. She was not permitted to walk away until he dismissed her or turned his back.

He moved toward her. “It was very kind of you to meet us in the antechamber today,” he said.

“I… was called. It was not my choice,” she said, immediately regretting the coldness of her words.

He clicked his tongue. “And why do you think you were called, Fin?” His use of her old nickname made her breath stop in her throat, and one small, hot tear to spring to her eye.

“I am always here, your highness,” she said. “Why would today please you more than any other day?”

He smiled. “I felt victorious,” he said. “And I saw you, drawing water in the courtyard. There is something so simple, so beautiful about you, Finia.”

Her heart began to pound at the turn his words were taking. She hugged her arms tight to her chest, willing herself to resist the silver tongue.

“There’s no need to be modest,” he said, walking close to her, drawing his fingertips lightly over the backs of her hands, her upper arms. “You have always been one of the most beautiful women in Asgard,” he whispered, his breath cold on her ear. She shivered. He blew a small puff of air at the soft skin on her neck just below her ear; the soft fine hair there stood on end; she felt the chill through her entire body. He smiled smugly as another shiver shook its way through her from her toes to the ends of her hair. He stood back, grinned at her again, and waved his fingers; the stack of towels appeared in her arms.

She had hoped that he would use his tricks to finish her work for her, to make the folded sheets appear in their place, but apparently he used his magic only when it pleased him; only for his own delight.

**

The women finished their toilette and Finia looked in the long, full-length mirror. Even she had to admit, the dressers had done well. She turned from side to side, regarding herself. Enviable small waist, her full hips blooming out, thick thighs that the Asgardian warriors loved to whistle at as she walked by, so unlike the thin, lithe, almost boyish figures of most of the women here. Her calves were long and slender, her feet delicate, the deep brown color of fired clay. Her toenails were trimmed now with a thin line of gold paint. Her arms were strong and shapely, her bosom full and rounded, her hair now piled high on her head. She looked regal. She smiled at herself, winked at her reflection, and walked quickly to the royal dining hall, her heart pounding in anticipation.

The great bronze doors swung open, and Finia walked in, a tray piled high with a selection of ripe fruit, its perfume wafting to her nose. She saw Loki immediately, seated at the end of the table. She knew that he had been the one to request her, to call for her. She also knew that after years of teasing torment, she was going to try a game of her own.

Instead of walking to Loki, she moved to the other corner of the long, heavy table, dropping to one knee between Fandral and Volstagg.

“Very well,” said Fandral warmly, reaching out and filling his own wooden plate with handfuls of the fruit that she offered.

“Very obliging girl,” said Volstagg, smiling, taking a pear and a cluster of grapes. Across the table, Finia saw Loki, seething, his breath rushing quickly. He looked at Volstagg, his gaze piercing.

She moved slowly around the table. “My prince,” she said, offering the platter to Thor, pitching her body forward so that he and Loki both had a full view of her rounded breasts, gleaming in their dusting of copper-colored powder in the candlelight. She saw Loki clench his fist, then bring it to his mouth, biting the knuckle of his first finger as his eyes tracked her every movement.

Thor reached in and served himself the remainder of the fruit, three plums and a ripe, soft peach, taking a bite of the latter and letting the juice drip down his chin. “Sorry, brother,” he said, his mouth still full, smiling. Loki rolled his eyes, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes trained on Finia’s full hips.

She stood again and saw with a quick glance what made him so uncomfortable; his own arousal was obvious as he sat in the wide wooden chair, his legs spread wide, a sort of desperate, wild look in his eyes. He licked his lips, drew his eyes up to meet hers. She felt the heat in her cheeks, a slight redness glowing on the apples of her warm cheeks.

He saw her blush and she saw the smug smirk again. He shifted his weight in the chair so that his full, firm length was evident to her, teasing, watching her face for the slightest reaction.

Through pure force of will, she lowered her eyelids, resting her lashes low on her cheek as she curtseyed before him and rushed from the hall, silent on the soft leather sandals, with the empty platter.

She slid the empty tray onto the counter in the kitchen, muttering quickly to the team of servers that she would be right back, that the heat had turned her stomach for a moment.

Her feet flew up the stone stairwell up to her refuge, her sanctuary, the breezy laundry room. In the dark night, the air that blew in through the rooms was chilly, but she barely felt the chill, so warm was she from the dining hall.

She walked to the window, leaning on the stone edging and looking out over the stars and the dark blue water lapping at the edge of the wall that protected the enclosure. The cool breeze blew over her face but did nothing to cool off the heat within her.

She felt his grip suddenly behind her, strong, large hands on her hips. His fingers dug in, painful.

“Ow!” she said, turning quickly around, only to see nothing. She felt his hands on her waist, touching her lightly. Then she felt a cool fingertip tracing from her collarbone down between her breasts, then his firm lips, warming now, pressing into the soft flesh of the top of her bosom.

She shuddered, leaning into the ledge of the window. “Loki,” she sighed. “Show yourself.” And she moaned then, softly, as she felt his nimble fingers travel up the inside of her thigh, pushing the thin muslin of her dress aside.

“Loki,” she called, her voice more insistent, and he materialized at last, his laughing, teasing green eyes meeting hers, holding her transfixed.

“Serve everyone but me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, exciting. Her heart pounded in her chest; her breath could not keep pace.

He pushed her suddenly back on a pallet of clean linens, the fresh white scent washing around them as he pushed her dress up to her chest; her lower half was exposed, the icy air rushing around her, exciting, invigorating. He dropped small, slow kisses from her belly to her waist, up to her full breasts; he pushed the dress all the way off her and when she opened her eyes for a moment she saw that he had conjured his clothing away as well; his regal costume from moments earlier was gone, vanished into thin air.

He flipped her over on her stomach in one smooth motion, his hands digging again into her full hips, gripping tight to her thighs. A moan ripped from his throat, and he called out her name, tentative, breathless. “Finia,” he said, running his hands across her back, around her tiny waist, around the fullness of her lower half.

She leaned toward him, tilting her hips slightly upward, and he gripped her solid hipbones in his hands, thrusting suddenly, firmly pressing deep within her.

She moaned softly, panting, raising her hips further to grant him greater access. “Unnh,” he called out, rocking into a rhythm against her upturned hips, spreading his stance wide, his thighs bracing against the power of his desire. He quickened his hips, leaning forward and drawing his tongue up the groove of her spine. His warm, nimble fingers reached around and found the softness they were seeking, teased and flickered there until she was hard and wet, straining into him, begging for release. He pressed faster with his fingers, whispering his dark words in her ear, and when her fingers clutched the soft sheets underneath her and her voice rang out, high, lilting, golden with ecstasy from the upper windows of the palace, he pressed harder, relishing the damp beat of her pleasure beneath his hand. He gripped her hips again with wet fingertips, pounding harder within her, her every movement guiding him closer to his own breaking point. She tilted her hips upward, clenched softly around him, and she felt him let go, a rough cry breaking from him as he pushed deep into her, his pounding pleasure filling her with warmth from within. She leaned into him and he pushed hard, softly throbbing still, deep within her.

He collapsed, covered in a fine layer of cool, sweet perspiration, against her back, pressing soft kisses there, gripping her hips tightly. “Beautiful Finia,” he said, drawing slowly out of her and turning her around to face him, raising her to her feet in front of him. She dipped low, licking a line of sweet dew from his chest, her own mouth wet and loose with release.

She smiled up at him, lay her arms lightly around his neck. “I think I serve you very well, your highness,” she said, pressing the full length of her skin against his.

“Indeed,” he said, his breath still ragged, heaving. “Indeed you do, my girl.”


End file.
